


Grey

by AgentStannerShipper



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Merlin in a kilt, Weddings, but not their own, harry is a drama queen who cant handle finding a grey hair, lots of fluffy nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 09:05:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15021278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: On the day of his brother's wedding, Harry finds his first grey hair.





	Grey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unicornspaceinvasion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornspaceinvasion/gifts), [mangojuice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangojuice/gifts).



> For unicornspaceinvasion and mangojuice, who wanted Merlin finding Harry's first grey hair and Merlin in a kilt. Hope this fluffy nonsense warms your souls.
> 
> The title is dumb. I couldn't think of a better one. But the fic is cute, I promise.

Merlin drums his fingers absently on his wrist and checks the time again, calling up the stairs, “Harry, if you’re not ready in the next five minutes, I am leaving you here and going to the wedding without you.”

Harry’s voice echoes from the bathroom as he calls back, “I’m almost done, darling.”

“You said that half an hour ago!”

“And, comparatively, I was correct.”

“No one needs to spend three hours in the bathroom!”

“Agree to disagree, darling.” Finally, _finally_ , Harry appears at the top of the stairs. Honestly, Merlin can’t see much of a difference between now and when Harry first rolled out of bed, save for the tuxedo – bow tie still hanging undone around his neck, for Christ’s sake – and a slightly less messy head of hair. He does not see _three hour_ s’ worth of preparation. But he’s also lived with Harry long enough to not bother questioning it.

“Are you ready now?” he sighs.

Harry descends the stairs like a prom queen in a teen movie, just as elegant and just as expectant of praise when he reaches the bottom. “I’m ready.”

“Good. And I hope I don’t have to remind you to keep your hands off my arse?”

Harry blinks at him innocently. “But darling, you know I can’t help myself. It’s not my fault you’re irresistible in formal wear.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “You just like that me in formal wear means you can feel me up without trousers in the way.”

“Guilty as charged,” Harry chirps, flicking at the edge of Merlin’s kilt. He slides his fingers up under the hem. “You know, I think we might have-“

“We do _not_ have time for whatever you are about to suggest. We are already running late, and I don’t need your family to have another reason to hate me.” He shoves Harry gently towards the door, and Harry allows himself to be pushed, hailing a cab as Merlin locks up behind them.

“You know,” he says, once they’re safely in the vehicle and on their way, “my family doesn’t actually hate you.”

Merlin leans over and sets to work on Harry’s bowtie, since the man seems uninterested in tying it himself. “Your father thinks you could do better than a working-class Scot and your mother is disappointed that I can’t give her grandchildren.” Merlin is perfectly well aware of what Harry’s parents think of him. The most recent example being a comment Reginald Hart had made, when Henry had invited them to his wedding, about Merlin understanding what ‘proper British formalwear’ entailed.

“Men in this country don’t wear skirts,” he had added, just in case there was any confusion about what he was referring to.

Merlin is fairly certain that the only reason Harry hadn’t retorted with what was most likely a comment about the fact that men in this country _did_ happen to wear skirts, as Harry was apt to do when the fancy struck him, was because Henry had cut in, assuring Merlin that if he wanted to wear his family tartan to the wedding, he would be welcome to do so. Reginald had sniffed, but he let the matter drop.

As for Loretta Hart, Merlin will at least admit that she seems to like him well enough. She’s a bright woman, and she likes to ask his opinions of her garden whenever they’re over for holidays, but she also has made it very clear that she wishes Merlin were a woman.

He wonders if she’d be fine if he were trans, so long as he could produce Harry’s biological offspring, but he’s not so it’s a moot point. And anyway, she seems confused enough with the concept of her eldest son being bisexual, frequently referencing how glad she is that Henry has finally “picked a side” and settled down with a nice woman, that the concept of someone being transgender is probably a bit beyond her.

“Alright,” he concedes, at Harry’s pointed look. “They don’t hate me. They’d just…prefer you were with someone else.”

“Well, they’re out of luck,” Harry says. “I fell in love with you, and they shall simply have to deal with it.”

They’re sweet words, but they would be sweeter if Merlin didn’t have to bat Harry’s hand out from under his kilt again as he says them.

The wedding venue is actually a little bit ridiculous. It’s fucking massive, for one thing, and with enough guards that Merlin suspects there will be royalty at the ceremony. If he and Harry are ever given the opportunity to marry, he is going to absolutely insist on a small ceremony, because even from the outside of the building he can see that this is going to be a circus. Merlin has never fully understood the point of weddings that involved more than the wedding party and a handful of very close friends. But perhaps that’s just his proclivity for being antisocial speaking.

Security is tight enough that they have to get out of the cab at the gates and walk the rest of the way to the mansion, and it’s only by taking Harry’s hand that Merlin can keep it from wandering indecently.

Henry greets them in the front hall, which is just as lavish as it looked from the outside and positively dripping with streamers and flowers and other wedding decorations. “Harry! Merlin! I’m so glad you made it. I was starting to worry.”

“Well, you know Harry,” Merlin jerks his head towards his partner. “Finds one grey hair and the next thing you know, the world is ending. Took him _three hours_ just to get ready.”

Henry snorts, even as Harry shoots Merlin an affronted look. “Sounds like my brother. Come on. Ceremony’s starting soon.”

As they follow Henry down the hall, Harry whispers, “Grey hair?”

Merlin frowns. “Is that not why you were having a panic in the bathroom this morning?”

“I was not having a panic! Good grooming habits-“ Harry cuts himself off, eyes widening. “Wait. Are you saying you actually did find a grey hair?”

“Aye. When you fell asleep on me last night.” He’d been petting Harry’s hair, because it was soft and soothing and Harry always looked so sweet when he was asleep and not trying to drive Merlin up the wall, and he’d found a tiny one just near the temple. “Why?”

“And you let me leave the house?” Harry’s voice goes up several octaves, and Henry shoots a worried look over his shoulder.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“Not a big deal!” Harry hisses. He looks like he has more to say on the matter, but then they’re forced to part, Harry and Henry doing final checks that they’re presentable before they’re ushered down the aisle, Harry as his brother’s best man, and Merlin is left to take his seat next to Harry’s father, who takes one look at Merlin’s kilt and refuses to make eye contact – or even look at him again – for the rest of the ceremony. Loretta, at least, smiles at him across her husband, and that makes Merlin feel a bit better about the seating arrangements. He’s also fairly certain he was right about the royalty because he’s pretty sure he catches a glimpse of one of the princes on the other side of the room.

 Harry spends the ceremony alternating between looking appropriately sappy as Henry pledges himself to his bride, and glaring daggers at Merlin.

Merlin refuses to admit he cries. He spends the second half of the ceremony trying to remove from his eyes whatever is making them water, and that is a story he will stick to.

For the reception, everyone relocates to what Merlin assumes is probably a ballroom or a banquet hall or some other equally unnecessary room that only serves to fill the mansion. He knows he’s bitter, but it’s still hard not to envy wealth sometimes, even after escaping his old life for Kingsman, and it tends to manifest unkindly. He can’t help but feel like all this is too much, though. The room feels crowded, too much noise and too much heat from the number of bodies packed into it, and Merlin snags two glasses of champagne off a passing waiter and relocates to the corner where, hopefully, no one will bother him.

Harry finds him almost instantly when he enters the room, just behind Henry and his new wife, and he makes a beeline for Merlin while his brother and sister-in-law are immediately swamped by well-wishers. He stalks over, coming to a stop beside Merlin and grousing, “I found it. I found the stupid grey hair and now it’s gone and I hate you for not telling me about it.”

Merlin takes a sip of champagne and calmly says, “Alright.” He offers Harry the other glass he’s holding.

Harry takes it, pouting. “I can’t believe you didn’t say something.”

“What does it matter? It’s one grey hair, Harry.”

“One…” Harry huffs. “Its not just one grey hair. It’s the _first_ grey hair. Which means more will come. Which means I’m getting _old_.”

“Oh, the horror.”

“Be serious!”

“I am.” Merlin lifts an eyebrow. “Harry, I started balding at the age of twenty-five. This?” He gestures to his shaved head. “This is because the other option is a comb-over or hair implants and I’d rather admit defeat and accept the fact that I’m done having hair.”

“Yes, but it looks good on you,” Harry points out.

“And you think you won’t look good with grey hair?”

“No. I’ll be old and wrinkled and hideous.” Harry shudders at the thought.

“I think you’re being dramatic.”

“I am not being dramatic!” Several people look their way, attention drawn by Harry’s raised voice, and Harry flushes and lowers it. “Alright, maybe I’m being a _little_ dramatic. But that doesn’t change the fact that this is just the start. Soon enough I’ll be a hunch-backed, snaggletoothed old man with grey hair and those horrid thick glasses and a cane.”

“Harry, listen to me.” Merlin takes both of his hands and keeps his voice low. “You are in fantastic shape for a man in your thirties. You are a secret fucking agent. And if you don’t think you’re going to be an absolute silver fox when you _eventually_ go grey, sometime many years from now, you are very much mistaken.”

“A silver fox?”

“Mmhm.”

“You really think so?”

“I think it’s much more likely than a ‘hunch-backed, snaggletoothed old man’ with grey hair and a cane.”

“And the glasses?”

“You already wear them for work. I’ll make you nice ones, you vain fucking peacock.”

Harry ignores the familiar, fond insult and considers the rest. “Silver fox. I could pull off silver fox.”

“Yes, you could.”

Harry squeezes his hands. “Thank you darling. You really have no idea what a comfort that is.”

“You’ll always be beautiful to me, Harry Hart. Even if you’re a ridiculous peacock who spends too much time in front of the bathroom mirror.”

“And you’ll always be stunning to me, darling.” He leans in for a kiss, and Merlin cups his face and deepens it, then leans his forehead against Harry’s when they break apart.

“And even if you did get old and ugly,” Merlin murmurs, “I would still love you.”

“I know that’s supposed to make me feel better, but somehow it just makes me feel like you still consider me getting ugly a possibility,” Harry teases.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” Harry presses another soft kiss to Merlin’s lips. “I feel the same way. I would marry you tomorrow or fifty years from now, no matter how wrinkled and crotchety you get.”

“You say that as if I’m not already-“ Merlin pauses. “You would marry me?”

“Of course. Without hesitation.”

As much as he thinks about it, when Harry says it out loud the words make something in Merlin’s chest twist up. He clears his throat. “Yes, well, you just want another opportunity to get me in a kilt.”

Harry smiles in understanding. He’s used to Merlin’s hesitation with emotions. “Believe it or not, darling, for once I’m not trying to get into your probable-lack-of-pants. I’m serious.”

“I know.” Merlin squeezes his hand a little tighter. “Someday, maybe.”

“Someday,” Harry agrees.

“And we’re not having a wedding like this one.”

Harry shudders. “God, no. I want it out of doors, and I imagine you’d want about a quarter of the guest list, if that. We would have to invite my parents though. That is not negotiable.”

“Not just your mother?”

Harry fixes him with a look, but he smiles. “We have plenty of time to work out the details before anything actually happens.”

Merlin sighs. “Stupid laws.”

“Tell you what, darling. If they don’t get their heads out of their arses soon and change the laws, I’ll marry you anyway. And then we’ll do it again when it’s legal. How does that sound?”

“Is that a proposal, Harry Hart?”

Harry scoffs. “Of course not. At my brother’s wedding? Even I have better timing than that. No, this is a promise.”

Merlin grins. “Alright. We’ll do the proposal part some other time, but I do like that promise.”

Harry’s smile is softer, sappy and fond in a way that would make Merlin roll his eyes if it was on anyone else. “I like it too.”

The room feels heavy now, and Merlin can see that people are starting to drift their way, presumably to make small talk with the best man. Talking to people is the last thing he wants to do, even if all he really has to do is stand next to Harry and look unapproachable.

“There’s got to be a dozen empty rooms in this place,” he whispers. “Want to find one?”

Harry brightens up. “Really?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. It’s so very easy to distract his partner, and it’s a much pleasanter alternative to listening to dozens of variations of ‘what a beautiful wedding.’ “Come on. I know you’re dying to find out if I’m wearing anything under this.”

“Are you?”

“Find us a room and figure it out yourself.”

“Yes sir!” Harry all but drags Merlin out of the banquet hall. And if Merlin happens to catch Reginald Hart’s eye and smirks at him, well, that’s his business. At least _someone_ in the Hart family can appreciate a kilt.

Even with the over-the-top decorations and the unnecessarily long guest list and Harry’s father glaring at Merlin – which only intensifies when Merlin brings Harry back just in time for the best man’s speech with mussed hair and a slightly rumpled suit – when he looks back on it, Merlin will eventually say that it makes his top five weddings. James and Alistair’s was equally lavish because James doesn’t ever do things simply if he can avoid it, and Eggsy and Tilde’s had the same sort of extensive guest list, owing to Tilde’s title. But when it comes to people he loves, Merlin finds the celebration a little easier to bear.

The top two slots, of course, are reserved for his own weddings. The first was only a few years after Henry’s, because Harry is an impatient man and almost dying on a mission tends to make you not want to wait for the important things in life.

The second was over two decades later, when the laws had changed and Merlin was still bald and short a few limbs and Harry was grey and missing an eye and they both were still very, very much in love.

Merlin wouldn’t have traded either of them for the world.


End file.
